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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26896561">such great heights</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttcasino/pseuds/buttcasino'>buttcasino</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magicians (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Awkward/Bad sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Magical Accidents, Post-Canon, but don't worry I'll make it up to them later on, tone shifts galore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:28:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,368</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26896561</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttcasino/pseuds/buttcasino</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Alright, here’s the deal,” she says, after consulting some numbers on her equipment. “Keep in mind that I am not a physician or a classically trained healer. But, Quentin, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you as far as I can tell. You’re just like. Tall.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>such great heights</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic concept first came to be well over a year ago when some friends and I were discussing how weird it is to remember that Quentin is tall in the books. Someone aptly described it as "cursed." </p><p>So then I was like, "wait what if he literally got cursed and was suddenly tall?" Thus, Cursed Tall Quentin was born. I could not resist.</p><p>Thank you so much to @ameliajessica and @coldbam for patiently listening and offering suggestions. </p><p>Enjoy!</p><p>p.s. this fic takes place in a post season 4 world where Q didn't die and they got Penny 40 back. Original Penny only in this house!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The day started out normally enough for Quentin. It started out great, even. </p><p>He and Eliot had slept late, then woken up and fooled around for what ended up amounting to several hours. Finally, when they were too breathless and sweaty to keep going, they’d taken a nice long shower, where, okay, maybe they ended up going again, just a little bit.</p><p>After all that, Eliot had gotten his shopping list together. They’re having a dinner party later in the week. Well, okay, Eliot is having a dinner party later in the week, but Quentin gets the default title of co-host, as the boyfriend of the chef. Margo, Fen, and Josh are coming in from Fillory, and Eliot is planning an elaborate spread. They don’t often get to hang out together as a whole group these days. </p><p>“Are you gonna go to like five different grocery stores for all of this?” Quentin had teased. He was sprawled out on his stomach on the bed next to Eliot as he perused his carefully color-coded list.</p><p>Eliot gave him an amused look and booped his nose with his finger. “More like, one grocery store, the farmer’s market, the bakery, the cheese shop and the wine shop, but yes. Any requests while I’m out?”</p><p>“Are you going to the bakery with those almond cookies I like?” Quentin asked hopefully. </p><p>“Do you even have to ask?” Eliot said, leaning down for a kiss.</p><p>“You are <em>so </em>spoiled,” Julia noted a little later when Quentin mentioned the cookie thing. </p><p>They were at their favorite Chinese place, because after Eliot had left for his shopping trip, Quentin had declared he was starving, and Julia had made a pointed comment about the effects of skipping breakfast. She was still down to go to lunch, though. </p><p>“He like, insists on spoiling me, so who am I to argue,” Quentin shrugged and shoved more lo mein in his mouth.</p><p>After eating way too much, they decided to walk around for a bit.</p><p>“Can’t beat autumn in New York,” Julia sighed.</p><p>“Yeah, I hear it’s like, something the city is well-known for,” Quentin teased, and Julia shoved him playfully. </p><p>So yeah, it was shaping up to be a great day. Then, Kady had called.</p><p>-</p><p>Kady calls Quentin and not Julia, which is automatically weird. He and Kady are cool, but they don’t like, chat, or hang out just the two of them. He’s not even sure he has any texts from her that aren’t part of their group chat. </p><p>“Kady?” </p><p>Julia makes a confused face at him and he shrugs.</p><p>Kady tells Quentin that Kady and Alice are looking into somenonymously reported suspicious hedge witch activity, and she’s wondering if he would be willing to help them out with something.</p><p>“Um, I mean, sure, but what could you and Alice possibly need <em>me </em>to help with?”</p><p>“Well, don’t take this the wrong way, because I mean it a positive way, but. Basically, we need someone who’s non-threatening and looks…nice.”</p><p>“Wow, okay, fair enough,” Quentin laughs. </p><p>Julia laughs too, when he fills her in. </p><p>“That’s our Q, Sweet and Trustworthy magazine cover boy,” she says, as she reaches up to ruffle his hair.</p><p>They’re not too far away, and it doesn’t take them long to arrive at the cross streets Kady had given, which turn out to be a few blocks away from the location of an abandoned watch shop. </p><p>Kady and Alice are waiting.  </p><p>“Okay, so what we heard is that there are some weird <em>appointments </em>going on in there,” Kady tells them. “No idea for what. Could be like, drugs, or illegal spell trading, or anything, really. Hedges tend to recognize me and Alice, and they might know Julia too, from back in the day. So we can’t pretend to be interested buyers.”</p><p>So that leaves Quentin to go in, act innocent, and dig up as much information as he can without arousing suspicion.</p><p>“If you’re up for it,” Kady adds. </p><p>Julia looks like she wants to protest, but Quentin cuts her off.</p><p>“Yes, I’m up for it. And don’t start, Jules. I’m a grown man, and maybe I’m not like, a magic genius like the rest of you, but I think I do okay. Like, I’ve killed a <em>god</em>, I’m pretty sure I can handle a couple of hedges for a few minutes.”</p><p>After a few moments of significant looks between the two of them, Julia sighs and says, “fine.” </p><p>Great. Now that he has Julia’s permission… </p><p>“We’re not trying to get anyone in trouble, or even necessarily stop what they’re doing, depending on what it is,” Alice clarifies. “We just want to find out why someone anonymously reported it, and ensure that people are being safe.” </p><p>Kady nods. “So if things seem chill, just see if they’ll talk to you. But try to act, you know, natural. And get the fuck out if anything seems fishy, okay? We’ll be out here as backup if needed.”</p><p>Quentin is actually kind of excited. He hasn’t participated in any plots or magic hijinks in what feels like forever. </p><p>Should he make up a fake name? What about…Randy. No, that doesn’t give off the right vibe. Matthew? Yeah, that’s better.</p><p>The front door of the place has a broken padlock, so he’s able to walk right in. He doesn’t see anyone, just dusty, empty jewelry cases and a vintage cash register.</p><p>The last thing he remembers clearly is walking down a hallway to an area marked EMPLOYEES ONLY by a faded sign above the doorway, and deciding that his alter ego Matthew works for the Humane Society and moved to the city a few years ago from Colorado. </p><p>Then, a murmur of voices, a stream of light from the crack in a barely opened door. A creak. Panicked yelling, and a loud whooshing sound, followed by what feels like a punch to the gut. After that, it all goes dark. </p><p>-</p><p>Quentin’s first attempt at opening his eyes is an unsuccessful one. It’s a dingy back office in an abandoned shop with only a little natural light streaming in from the tiny windows near the ceiling, and yet it’s as if his eyes are being assaulted with a million fluorescent bulbs. </p><p>He’s lying curled up in a ball on the floor, his ears ringing and his body weirdly numb. He hears Julia calling his name and he also hears what he thinks is Kady shouting instructions at Alice. They can’t be that far away, but it’s as if they’re speaking from the other side of a closed door, or like they’re underwater, voices muffled and echoey. </p><p>“Guys, I’m in here,” he calls out. </p><p>Or at least, he tries to. He’s not sure any sound comes out, though. </p><p>What the fuck happened? He knows he was helping Kady and Alice with…something.</p><p>“Shit,” he moans weakly, and turns his pounding head into the crook of his arm. He plans to just stay like that for awhile, but his body has other plans. </p><p>An odd spasm jolts through Quentin’s arms and legs and he twitches, still curled in the fetal position. Suddenly restless, he feels the inexorable urge to get up and move around, which will definitely require a second attempt at actually opening his eyes.</p><p>It’s not so bad this time around, now that he knows to go slow and give it time to adjust. He blinks a few times. His eyes are still sensitive to the light and it feels like he has a migraine coming on, but other than that, nothing too bad. </p><p>Once his eyes have had time to adjust, he realizes that the reason it sounds like his friends’ voices are coming from behind a closed door is because, well, they are literally coming from behind a closed door.</p><p>A closed door which is clearly magically locked. He can hear them strategizing on the best way to get it open, after Kady’s attempt to try to just kick it down, is unsuccessful. </p><p>“Q? Can you hear me?” Julia calls again, with some accompanied banging on the door for emphasis.</p><p>He clears his throat and yells, as loud as he can, “Yeah, I’m here.”</p><p>“Oh, thank god,” Julia says. “Are you okay?” </p><p>“Uh…yes?”</p><p>He can almost hear all three of them rolling their eyes. </p><p>“Not exactly inspiring confidence there, Q. Okay, more specific question: are you hurt?”</p><p>Quentin thinks carefully about his answer. “Um, well, I don’t think so? But I’m on the floor and haven’t really attempted to move, so.” </p><p>After some more muttered cursing from all of them under their breaths, Alice pipes up. </p><p>“We’re working on getting the door open. But it may just open from the inside. Can you try to move? <em>Slowly</em>, okay?”</p><p>“Okay,” he calls back. “Here I go.” </p><p>His body doesn’t <em>hurt</em>, exactly. It’s more like, when your leg falls asleep and you know when you move it’s gonna suck, but moving is the only way to get the feeling to go away. </p><p>The good news is that it basically does feel like he’s moving his limbs for the first time after they’ve fallen asleep. Weird, not pleasant, but bearable. He’s slowly stretching out his arms and legs, and he can move them alright. The bad news…</p><p>Well, he doesn’t even know if he can call it <em>bad </em>news really. But, he’s definitely noticing a few things he would classify as abnormal. </p><p>First of all, his shoes are like, not on his feet anymore? Not only that, but they are completely busted, ripped apart at the seams at both the toe and the heel. What the fuck? Those were his favorite boots, too.</p><p>Next, he takes in the holes in his socks, and then his pants and his shirt, both of which no longer fit him. It’s like they shrunk in the wash, except like, while on his body. </p><p>“How’s it going?” Julia calls out. “Does anything seem broken?”</p><p>“Um. Just my shoes.”</p><p>“Your <em>what</em>? …Did he say his <em>shoes</em>?”</p><p>Quentin…doesn’t respond. Which he thinks is perfectly fair; there are more pressing matters to focus on. He extends his arms out his arms in front of him, slowly. He stretches his legs, pointing his toes and flexing his ankles. </p><p>He manages to get himself onto his knees and then slowly raises himself to a standing position, knees wobbling.</p><p>His head is spinning as he takes a few tentative steps towards the door, arms out to the side for balance.</p><p>“I’m up and walking towards the door,” Quentin announces. “I’m almost there, gonna try to open it, just one sec—” </p><p>He reaches out for the push handle, but before he can do anything, the door bursts open from the other side; the girls’ unlocking spell was a success. Quentin is standing basically in the doorway when this happens. </p><p>Kady and Julia both jump in surprise and clutch at each other when they see him.</p><p>This would be kind of insulting, except for the fact that Alice literally screams. </p><p>“Whoa! Alice! It’s me! I’m just uh! Well, as you can see—”</p><p>He holds his arms out as if to present himself for inspection, like, <em>well, here I am</em>.</p><p>Alice presses a hand to her chest and takes some deep breaths.</p><p>“Sorry! Q, I’m sorry, I just was surprised, I wasn’t expecting…”</p><p>“You weren’t expecting to see me standing here like almost a foot taller than I was the last time you saw me?” Quentin throws out. Just a guess.</p><p>Alice nods. “And um, your clothes. They’re…”</p><p>“Like I’m a little kid wearing pajamas that are a few sizes too small?” Quentin says, in a pathetic attempt a joke. Kady actually laughs, so hey. “That’s what I feel like.”</p><p>Recovered from her sudden shock, Julia is rushing to his side. She delicately wraps her arms around his waist, as though she’s afraid he’ll break if she squeezes too hard. </p><p>He returns the hug just as hesitantly, but for different reasons; Julia is almost comically tiny from this vantage point.</p><p>“Are you feeling okay? What <em>happened</em>? I mean, it was spell of some kind, obviously, duh, stupid question.” </p><p>Definitely not a stupid question. </p><p>“I…I’m not sure? It’s all hazy. There were these two hedges. I surprised them in here? And they hit me with—well whatever would cause <em>this</em>, I guess.” </p><p>He closes his eyes and tries to focus—his memories feel choppy and disconnected, like flashes of random scenes from a movie. </p><p>“I think one of them was a traveler, because I saw them disappear before I passed out.” </p><p>“A fucking <em>traveler</em>? Seriously? I guess every little gang has one now,” Kady curses. </p><p>“Yeah, Penny’s gonna be so disappointed he’s not the only game in town anymore.” Quentin jokes and then suddenly sways a little on his feet, his knees buckling under him.</p><p>Julia immediately reaches out to steady him. </p><p>“Come on Q, why don’t you sit down,” she says, and leads him to the dilapidated couch in the corner. She settles next to him and rubs his back, and he tries to breathe through the nausea.</p><p>“You got hit with a hefty dose of something very funky. I mean, clearly it was a transformation spell of some kind, but why the fuck would someone create a spell that does <em>this</em>? Could be that something went wrong with the casting?”</p><p>Alice frowns. “Well. We know physical transformation spells are very easy to mess up. I mean…we know what happened to Emiliy Greenstreet.” </p><p>Her voice trembles a little bit, and Quentin can tell they all know what she’s not saying, <em>we all know what happened to Charlie</em>. </p><p>Fuck. As if he couldn’t feel worse. Now he’s making Alice relive one of, if not the most, painful events of her life.</p><p>“Alice, I—” Quentin starts, and then stops when she just shakes her head. </p><p>“I think um,” she says, clearing her throat. “I’ll go set some security wards around the building. If they were doing business out of this shop, it makes sense that they or someone who knows something might come back.”</p><p>They all quickly agree it’s a good idea, and no one volunteers to go with her. It’s pretty clear she wants to be alone for a bit. </p><p>She leaves an uncomfortable silence behind, no one quite sure what to say. </p><p>Kady quickly sends off some texts and then turns her attention back to them. She paces back and forth as she works through the situation, her arms crossed. </p><p>“So the girl was casting the spell as you walked in, she freaked, and you just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? I mean, unless these two hedges randomly have it out for you, Coldwater.”</p><p>Quentin shrugs as best he can in his current predicament. “I wouldn’t rule it out. I tend to piss people off without trying.” </p><p>Kady sighs in frustration. “I don’t know what the hell they were up to in here, but whatever it was, they did <em>not </em>want someone finding out.”</p><p>She rubs her temples and sighs again.</p><p>“Sorry. I feel bad. You were only here because I asked, and look where it got you.” </p><p>“It’s not your fault. I wanted to help. And I’m not <em>thrilled </em>with the results, but they were just some scared kids. I mean, they warded the door to lock from the inside, but then they didn’t even have it closed all the way? Doesn’t sound very criminal mastermind-y to me.”</p><p>Kady nods. “Yeah. Fuck. I mean, I can’t really blame any of them for being suspicious and keeping secrets, I just wish…”</p><p>She’s been working so hard to improve the hedge community, Quentin can understand why she looks so frustrated. </p><p>“Hey, will you let me try something?” </p><p>She stands over him and does some wellness scan spell that she says she picked up from some hedge healers—often lacking proper equipment like the stuff Professor Lipson uses at Brakebills, they have to improvise—and declares that he has no broken bones or obvious wounds and that she can “probably” rule out any internal bleeding.</p><p>“Wow,” Quentin says, deadpan. “That’s comforting.”</p><p>“Look, healing’s <em>obviously </em>not my discipline, jackass, so that’s the best I’ve got,” Kady says. “I’m gonna have someone come over here now and check you out, just to be safe.” </p><p>Her phone buzzes in her back pocket. </p><p>“Perfect timing. …Penny? Hey. If I drop a pin can you pick someone up and then meet us here?”</p><p>Quentin’s instinct is to protest, insist that he doesn’t need a <em>doctor</em>, but actually, he might. He has no idea. He only <em>probably </em>isn’t bleeding internally, after all. </p><p>Penny arrives promptly with the healer. Her name is Reid, and she’s a former paramedic who now spends her time at the free hedge medical clinic that Kady has been setting up. She’s about their age, according to Kady, but looks younger, but maybe that’s because she’s <em>maybe </em>five feet tall and Quentin‘s perspective is skewed now.</p><p>Kady explains the situation and Reid nods like she sees this every day. Maybe she does, who knows. She’s wearing glasses and her bright red hair is pulled back into a business-like ponytail, which, combined with the scrubs she’s wearing and the medical bag in her hand, send out <em>I know what I’m doing vibes</em>, in Quentin’s opinion. </p><p>“Okay, let’s see what’s going on here. Stand up, please.”</p><p>She runs through a series of diagnostic spells and then pulls out some equipment from her bag and does some things that involve pointing said equipment at various parts of Quentin’s body. Sometimes it lights up with different colors and sometimes it makes weird buzzing noises. It all seems to make sense to Reid; she’s nodding along with every color or buzz. </p><p>Quentin wants to ask her to explain, but figures that would just be a distraction and he probably wouldn’t even understand it anyway. He tries to take comfort in the fact that she doesn’t seem particularly alarmed by anything she’s discovering. But then again, that’s what medical professionals are trained to do, right? Keep calm and not freak out the patient?</p><p>“Alright, here’s the deal,” she says, after consulting some numbers on her equipment. “Keep in mind that I am not a physician or a classically trained healer. But, Quentin, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you as far as I can tell. You’re just like. Tall.”</p><p>Great. Official medical diagnosis: freakishly tall. Bonus, he can update that <em>probably</em> not bleeding internally to a definitely.</p><p>“You might experience some joint pain and muscle soreness. It’s kinda like, you know, puberty growth spurts?” Reid continues. </p><p>“Oh, <em>perfect</em>.”</p><p>“Do you know how to reverse it?” Kady asks, and Reid shakes her head.</p><p>“Nah, I wouldn’t want to mess with that without knowing the exact nature and circumstances of the spell. Best to get it from the source.”</p><p>Kady nods. “Oh, we’ll be tracking them down, believe me. Does it look like it was a spell that went wrong, or what?”</p><p>Reid consults her weird equipment again and shakes her head. “Mmm, don’t think so. It doesn’t have that energy. Looks like it did exactly what it was supposed to. If I had to guess, it’s cosmetic.”</p><p>“What, like, extreme makeover magic edition?” Penny snorts.</p><p>“I can see it. I mean, don’t a lot of guys want to be taller?” Reid shrugs. “It’s a whole thing. Some of ‘em have a complex about it.”</p><p>Actually, Quentin himself had spent a considerable amount of time in high school and college wondering if Julia would be into him if he were taller, and like, hotter in general, but he’s not going to mention that right now. </p><p>“Maybe test it out, go see if you can pick up any interested guys or gals tonight,” she says with a wink. </p><p>“Um, actually I have a boyfriend,” Quentin says.</p><p>She pats him on the arm. “Well hey, good for you.”</p><p>Wait. Fuck.</p><p>“Oh my god, no one tell Eliot about this,” Quentin blurts out.</p><p>Julia, who had stepped into the hallway, happens to walk back in at that moment and holds up her phone.  “Uh, too late for that. I just called him. But also, why would we not tell Eliot? I’m pretty sure he’s gonna notice.”</p><p>Obviously, Quentin knows “because he likes that I’m short” is not a valid response. He’s definitely not going to say it. </p><p>“I just um, don’t want him to worry,” he says instead, which is also true.</p><p>Alice comes back in and announces the wards are all set. Her eyes are a little red, but other than that, she seems okay. It’s hard  for him to tell though, with Alice. </p><p>With that done, Julia unilaterally decides that Penny is going to travel Quentin back home, and Eliot will meet him there. The rest of them will hit up some hedge hang outs to see if they can gather any information. </p><p>“I’m not the fucking hedge witch police,” Kady clarfies. “I’m not trying to like, throw them in magic jail or whatever, but we need to track them down so we can get this spell reversed as soon as fucking possible.”</p><p>Quentin tries to argue he should be out there helping. He’s not <em>sick</em>, he’s just like, randomly tall, Reid said so herself. Unfortunately, before she heads back to her clinic, Reid also advises that he not “exert himself” at this time. </p><p>They also point out he’s not even wearing shoes, which, okay, fine.</p><p>“Alright Coldwater, let’s go,” Penny says, reaching out for his arm. “Shit, this is weird. You’re so fucking tall.”</p><p>“Hey, thanks for the update,” Quentin grumbles. “Any other groundbreaking revelations you’d like to share with the class?”</p><p>Penny just laughs.</p><p>In a flash, they’re back at the penthouse. Eliot isn’t home yet, and Quentin paces back and forth in the living room while they wait. Penny lounges on the couch.</p><p>“You can like, go,” he says.</p><p>Penny shakes his head.</p><p>“Nah. I’m under strict orders to wait here until Eliot arrives. I’m not getting on Julia’s bad side.”</p><p>“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Quentin mumbles under his breath as he gnaws at his thumbnail.</p><p>“Dude, would you calm down? You should keep your blood pressure low. I don’t want you having a stroke on my watch.”</p><p>Quentin rolls his eyes. “Okay, I’ll try to wait until you leave before I have a stroke.”</p><p>“What are you freaking out about, anyway? You’re fine, you heard Reid. And we’ll get the spell reversed.”</p><p>There’s no way Quentin is admitting to Penny of all people that his current panic has nothing to do with any of that, but is one-hundred-percent in anticipation, or rather, dread, of Eliot’s reaction when he walks through the door. </p><p>And yeah, maybe he temporarily forgets that he doesn’t have to actually admit anything out loud for Penny to hear what he’s thinking. And Quentin is absolutely not keeping his mental wards up at the moment.</p><p>“Oh, gross, dude,” Penny groans. “You’re worrying that Eliot won’t want to fuck you when you look like this? Really?” </p><p>“I mean, look at me!” Quentin exclaims, gesturing to himself. “Who <em>would </em>want to fuck me when I look like this?” </p><p>Penny groans again and scrubs a hand across his face. </p><p>“Uh. I mean, I don’t think I’m the best person to ask, as someone who has never had any interest in doing that, no offense. But…you don’t look <em>that </em>bad. You still look like <em>you</em>. So you know, anyone who’s into…all that, should still be into it.”</p><p><em>Anyone who’s into all that </em>is Eliot and Eliot only, as far as Quentin knows, and certainly the only one of relevance to him. Like, this is it, for him. If Eliot doesn’t want him, then there’s nothing and no one else—why would he bother when nothing else would compare.</p><p>He can appreciate that Penny is trying, though. </p><p>“Thanks, I think.”</p><p>A moment later, the front door swings open and Eliot walks in, grocery bags on each arm. </p><p>He stops in his tracks and stares.</p><p>“Um, hi,” Quentin says after a moment, and stupidly waves.</p><p>And then Eliot is rushing towards him and saying, “Oh my god, Q, are you okay? I mean, Julia told me everything was fine, but—”</p><p>He unceremoniously drops the grocery bags on the floor at his feet and reaches out to cup Quentin’s face in his hands.</p><p>This is all very weird, because Eliot is looking <em>up </em>at him, and he’s looking down at Eliot, like, not by much, but he is definitely the taller one at the moment, and this maybe more than anything makes Quentin feel disoriented. </p><p>“I’m fine—” Quentin starts to say, but before he can, Eliot is leaning up and kissing him, like he’s desperate for it.</p><p>“Hey, yeah, I’m here too, and I’m also fine, thanks for asking,” Quentin hears Penny say from across the room.</p><p>Eliot finally lets him pull away to breathe, eventually. </p><p>“I thought, um,” Quentin gasps, “I thought maybe you wouldn’t know it was me.”</p><p>It’s a joke, or an attempt at one. It’s also close to the truth, but not quite. </p><p>Eliot just smiles and presses a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Hm. Ridiculous. I’d recognize you anywhere.”</p><p>“El,” Quentin sniffles, blinking back tears, as Eliot leans in to kiss him again, soft this time. </p><p>“Oh come <em>on</em>,” Penny says in disgust. “I’m leaving now.”</p><p>“Thanks, Penny,” Eliot calls, his eyes not leaving Quentin’s.</p><p>Penny is gone in a flash, and then Eliot is directing Quentin to the couch.</p><p>“Here, Q, sit. Just…relax and I’ll make you some tea or something.”</p><p>“Okay, I don’t think <em>relaxing </em>is something I can do right now, but again, physically, I’m fine. What’s tea going to do? It’s not like I have a cold.” </p><p>He immediately feels bad, because still Eliot looks worried out of his mind, and he’s only had a few minutes to adjust to this whole thing, while Quentin’s had well over an hour now. “Um. Sorry. Actually, tea would be nice.” </p><p>Eliot nods. “I’ll make tea, and send a messenger rabbit to Margo.”  </p><p>It’s not like Margo will be able to do anything about the current situation, unless she somehow knows how to reverse this particular spell off the top of her head. But Quentin knows that having Margo here is more for Eliot’s sake than his own, so he doesn’t protest.</p><p>Eliot’s message, <em>HELP: QUENTIN IS TALL</em>,is understandably met with a response indicating confusion (<em>BITCH WHAT THE FUCK</em>). After a flurry of bunnies back and forth, Margo agrees to come see for herself. <em>BE THERE IN TEN</em>, the last bunny announces.</p><p>Eliot puts the groceries away and delivers Quentin's tea with a kiss to his forehead. </p><p>“Drink that. Relax.” Eliot orders. </p><p>Then he heads to the bedroom to look for some comfortable clothing of his that would currently fit Quentin, since his own wardrobe is clearly not an option.</p><p>Quentin does as he’s told. Well, he drinks the tea. The relaxing part, not so much. HIs whole body is tingling oddly, like his bones just got zapped with electricity. It doesn’t hurt, really, it’s just. Unsettling. As is the fact that he keeps staring at his own <em>gigantic </em>feet, twisting his ankles back and forth, as if to try to prove to himself that they are in fact part of his body. </p><p>Margo arrives right on time, as always. She barely blinks when she sees him. </p><p>“I’ve always thought you’d look cute in a crop top, Q,” she says approvingly. “I love that for you. The pants though, not so much. Those will have to go.”</p><p>Quentin rolls his eyes, but he’s actually thankful to her for not making a big deal of it. “Go take it up with El, he’s looking into pant options as we speak.” </p><p>Margo nods. “I'll do that, but first, I need to do a full inspection.”</p><p>Margo makes a “come here” gesture and while she doesn’t use magic, she may as well have, for the way Quentin feels helplessly compelled to obey. </p><p>Stopped in his tracks, Quentin sighs, as Margo walks in a slow circle around him, her arms crossed and her head tilted to the side in contemplation.</p><p>“Hm…okay, so proportionally, I guess everything looks about the same, it’s just…man, this is <em>wild</em>, like real uncanny valley shit going on here, but you’re definitely—oh no.” </p><p><em>Oh no </em>is not really something you want to hear when you’ve just been magically made taller by almost a whole foot and just standing there doing nothing makes him feel like a wobbly baby horse (a foal, right? see, he did retain some knowledge from junior cowboy camp) or something.</p><p>“<em>What</em>? Margo, you can’t just—” </p><p>Panic rises in his throat and he twists around as though he’ll somehow be able to turn his head enough to see his own body from behind.</p><p>“Okay, hey, don’t freak out,” Margo says, “It's not like…it’s fine, you don’t have like, a tail, or wings, or anything freaky like that, it’s just…”</p><p>A tail? <em>Wings</em>? Well, he wasn’t worried about anything that <em>before </em>she mentioned it, but—</p><p>“What’s going on?” </p><p>Quentin jumps at the sound of Eliot’s voice, and he doesn’t miss how Eliot also starts, ever so slightly, when he looks at him. It’s gone in a second, and Quentin tries very hard to not be insulted. It’s a lot to get used to. There’s no reason to panic because his boyfriend is freaked out by the very sight of him. It’s fine. </p><p>“El,” Margo’s voice has gone mournful now. “I don't know how to break this to you, but…Quentin’s ass is gone.” </p><p>“It’s <em>gone</em>?” Quentin yelps, again trying to crane his neck at an impossible angle. “Like, how—”</p><p>Margo scoffs and whacks him on his ass, as though to prove that it is still indeed attached to him. </p><p>“Obviously it’s not <em>gone </em>gone, genius. It’s just that in the process of stretching out your limbs, this spell also, uh, flattened you out in some places.” </p><p>Eliot has hurried over and is apparently lost in contemplation at the sight of whatever going on—or not going on—back there. Fuck, Quentin needs to get to a full-length mirror, now. </p><p>“Oh Q,” Margo sighs. “Your one beauty.”</p><p>“Hey,” Quentin and Eliot say in unison.</p><p>(They’d all watched <em>Little Women</em> together a few weeks earlier. </p><p>Margo, to their surprise, had picked it. </p><p>“I loved this book,” she insisted. “I know it’s hard to imagine now, fabulous as I am, but I was a little nerd as a kid.” </p><p>Quentin and Eliot had exchanged bemused glances over her head. It actually wasn’t that hard to imagine, but they weren’t going to tell her that. Margo’s nerdy side was one of Quentin’s many favorite things about her.</p><p>They’d all liked the movie, even Eliot, who spent the entire time declaring that Laurie was “trash” and should’ve ended up alone. This was after Quentin had casually mentioned that he thought Timothée Chalamet was a good actor, and Eliot had said “hm,” and glared at the screen, unimpressed. </p><p>Anyway, Quentin absolutely caught him pretending he wasn’t crying when Beth died, because he’s a complete softie, no matter what he claims, so.)</p><p>“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, fuck, Quentin is flawless, both inside and out and I will never disparage him again,” Margo intones, like she’s reciting from a script she was forced to memorize.</p><p>Eliot makes a humming noise and nods. “Thank you.”</p><p>Quentin does not point out that if Margo’s uh, report of the situation is accurate, there’s no way that Eliot could actually believe that Quentin is currently physically flawless, given all the enthusing he has done about Quentin’s ass, both in and out of the bedroom. </p><p>“Anyway,” Eliot says, placing a steadying hand at the small of Quentin’s back, though Quentin’s not clear about which one of them it’s meant to reassure, “It’s all temporary. We’ll figure out a way to reverse the spell, Q, don’t worry.”</p><p>A wave of nausea overtakes him suddenly, and Quentin’s knees buckle, and he instinctively reaches out to Eliot, who instinctively tries to protectively tuck Quentin against his chest, before they abruptly realize that’s…not going to work at the moment.</p><p>They sort of just…awkwardly slam into each other, and Quentin has to duck down to avoid smashing his face against Eliot’s. </p><p>“You okay, baby?” Eliot asks, softly, and it’s weird, it’s so weird, when Quentin straightens up and they’re looking at each other, and he’s staring down at Eliot instead of the other way around. </p><p>“Um, sorry, I…I feel…” he mumbles, not sure how to finish that thought. </p><p>“We should probably get him to your room so he can lie down,” Margo says, her voice low with concern. “Fuckin’ hedges.”</p><p>Just some standard joint pain and muscle aches, <em>yeah right</em>. </p><p>Eliot nods, his eyes sweeping over Quentin’s face with concern. He reaches up to gently tuck a stray piece of Quentin’s hair behind his ear, and then cups his cheek. Without meaning to, Quentin finds himself leaning into it, desperate, his eyes shutting, heavy with relief.</p><p>“It feels so weird, El,” he says, embarrassed to hear his voice tremble along with the weird shaky sensation in his arms and legs. </p><p>“Shh, Q, I’ve got you, come on, let’s go to bed, okay?” Eliot murmurs, and Quentin nods without opening his eyes, and drops his head down to rest his forehead on Eliot’s shoulder. It’s not as comfortable as it normally is, with his face tucked perfectly into the curve of Eliot’s neck, but this is the best he’s going to get at the moment.</p><p>His head has started to pound, and all his limbs ache in a dull, but persistent, way.</p><p>Eliot is leading him to their room, to their bed, where it’s cool and dark, and he’s being undressed and put into soft pajama pants—Eliot’s, because his own are comically too short now, and tucked in, and given pills to take and water to drink. Then, he’s ordered to get some rest, punctuated with a gentle kiss to his forehead.</p><p>Eliot makes a move like he plans to leave, and that just will not do. Quentin reaches out, catches his wrist and says, “Stay?”</p><p>There’s a moment where Eliot hesitates, and Quentin just barely starts into a mental spiral of <em>oh god I’m such a freak now he doesn’t even want to be in the same bed with me</em> but of course, that’s stupid, and Eliot smiles and says “of course,” and Quentin pulls back the covers to welcome him in. </p><p>It’s not quite as easy as it usually is, but they manage to wriggle themselves into an acceptable sleeping position. Granted, Quentin has scooted halfway down the bed and curled himself into a ball to avoid his legs completely dangling off the end. But doing so allows him to rest his head on Eliot’s chest, and with Eliot’s arms and their blankets wrapped tight around him, with the room dark and his eyes closed, things feel normal enough for Quentin to feel himself relax. He lets out a long sigh of relief, lulled by Eliot’s steady, strong heartbeat, and soon, he’s drifting off.</p><p>-</p><p>When he wakes up, Quentin gradually becomes aware of a few things. First, his headache is mercifully gone, and the ache in his bones has subsided to a barely-there twinge, but <em>something </em>woke him up. </p><p>Also, he is no longer curled up with his head on Eliot’s chest, but flat on his back, with his limbs flung out across the bed. He opens his eyes and squints, his vision adjusting to the dim lighting to make out Eliot, who has carefully and precariously arranged himself around Quentin’s flailing arms and legs. </p><p>His eyes are open and he’s looking at Quentin. He smiles when he notices Quentin is awake, seemingly not annoyed by the fact that he’s seemingly about to slip off the side of the bed at any moment.</p><p>“Hey,” Quentin says, his voice low and thick with sleep.</p><p>“Hey,” Eliot says back, smiling. “So, Kady and everybody else got back after you fell asleep. They didn’t find the hedges, but Kady has some contacts she’s going to track down today.” </p><p>“Oh…that’s good, I guess. Always nice to have contacts,” Quentin mumbles, yawning into the pillow.  </p><p>“You feeling okay?” Eliot continues, gentle, and Quentin nods. It’s mostly true. </p><p>Eliot lets out a breath. “That’s…great. I was worried about you.” </p><p>He looks ready to topple off the side of the mattress at any moment, and Quentin pulls his arms and legs back towards himself, quick and embarrassed. Eliot follows the movement, rolls into Quentin’s space, and captures his mouth in a kiss.</p><p>A soft, surprised sound escapes his mouth, and <em>oh</em>, okay, the <em>something </em>he noticed when he woke up, is just that he was apparently horny and didn’t realize it, what with all the other stuff going on with his body.</p><p>Kissing Eliot still feels the same, even if nothing else does. It’s a sweet, heady relief that only intensifies when Eliot gets him on his back and presses against him and Quentin just <em>moans,</em> because he can feel how much Eliot wants him, still. </p><p>If Eliot still wants him, then maybe everything else will be fine. </p><p>“El,” he mumbles between kisses, and Eliot pulls away to nuzzle against his jaw. </p><p>“What do you want, baby? Tell me.” </p><p>Quentin has many answers for this, but he blinks and finds himself saying, “I have to pee.” </p><p>There’s a pause and then Eliot is pressing his face to Quentin’s neck and Quentin can feel him laughing.</p><p>“You sure know how to set the mood, Coldwater,” he says after a moment, and rolls off of Quentin to flop onto the mattress on his back. “Okay. Go, and then come right back. I have plans for you and they involve not leaving this bed again for a good long while. I want to see if we can beat yesterday’s record.”</p><p>Quentin is more than okay with that, and he hurries to the bathroom to take care of business. </p><p>He does have a moment where he freaks himself out when he sees his own reflection in in the bathroom mirror—he’s so fucking tall and gangly, god. He’s shirtless (Eliot knows when he’s feeling sick he gets overheated and can’t sleep) and he spends some time staring at his chest and arms, trying to determine if he looks more or less filled out than he was before. Not that he was ever like, muscular, or anything, but he can recall at least one instance of Eliot, at the mosaic, tipsy on mead and rhapsodizing about Quentin’s “shapely legs and sexy arms.”</p><p>So, like, he’s not the one that said it. But he thinks maybe now his legs may be a little less shapely and his arms a little less sexy. And his ass, as Margo so helpfully pointed out, is definitely less, uh, to borrow a word Margo has also used in the past, <em>perky</em>. Quentin would never have said it himself, but he guesses it fits. </p><p>Well, it’s easier to not dwell on it when he has the promise of leisurely morning sex waiting for him back in the bedroom, which Eliot had very willingly offered, and he’d gotten a good look at Quentin’s bare upper body first, so it must not be a dealbreaker.</p><p>Then he gets his pajama pants down, as one does in the bathroom, and, well.</p><p>Huh.</p><p>Quentin does what he came to the bathroom for, calmly, and then washes his hands, calmly, and walks back to the bedroom, also calmly.</p><p>Eliot is still lying on the bed, lounging on the pillows regally like the king he is, and he lifts his head and smiles when Quentin comes back in and shuts the door. He’s not looking at him any differently than he had yesterday, or any other time when they’re about to fuck and Eliot gets this expression on his face like he wants to absolutely <em>devour </em>him. </p><p>Only Quentin is <em>not</em> the same.</p><p>“Finally. Now take your clothes off and get back over here.”</p><p>“Um,” Quentin says, leaning against the closed door. “So…”</p><p>“You’re right,” Eliot says, looking him over, his eyes dark. “Leave them on. I want to do it myself.”</p><p>Quentin stays plastered against the door, and Eliot’s expression turns worried, and he lifts himself up to a sitting position.</p><p>“Q? What’s wrong? Are you feeling bad again?”</p><p>Is he? It’s hard to say. But, well, he has to, doesn’t he, or Eliot is going to panic.</p><p>“Um, no, not…exactly,” is what Quentin settles on, as he slowly makes his way over to the bed.</p><p>“I didn’t mean to freak you out. I just, um. Maybe you better just. See for yourself.”</p><p>Eliot nods like this makes any sense and shifts so that he’s on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor, like he’s poised to get up. “Okay. And what exactly is it I’m seeing?”</p><p>Quentin is standing in front of him now, and Eliot looks up at him, ever patient. </p><p>“Like, it’s fine. Just um, take my pants off,” Quentin says, at a loss for anything else, and Eliot huffs out a laugh and reaches out to place his hands on Quentin’s hips.</p><p>“I thought you’d never ask.”</p><p>It’s weird, because Quentin is so much taller than he was the last time they did this, and looking down at Eliot like this, as he slowly, slowly tugs Quentin’s pajama pants and briefs down, it’s just <em>off</em> somehow, but Eliot is looking up at him from under his lashes, a small smile on his face, like he doesn’t even notice that anything is different. </p><p>But hey, Quentin is only human and even through his unease, Eliot Waugh looking at him like <em>that </em>while getting him naked is more than enough to start getting him hard again.</p><p>“This is what I was trying to do this whole time, baby, but I’m glad we got there—oh.”</p><p>Quentin’s dick, now definitely interested in the proceedings, is out in the open, pants and briefs trapped halfway down his thighs, and Eliot is staring like he’s never seen it before, which, he kind of hasn’t, in a way.</p><p>“So yeah, that’s what I…yeah,” Quentin says unnecessarily.</p><p>Eliot blinks and then says, “Wow.”</p><p>“I mean, um,” Quentin says, shifting uneasily while Eliot continues to stare at his dick, which is still interested in the proceedings, because well, Eliot has his big, gorgeous hands on the bare skin of his thighs, and that’s never a bad thing. “It makes sense? Like, proportionally, if I’m um, a lot taller, then it would follow that…”</p><p>Quentin trails off and waves his hand in the air vaguely. </p><p>“That your dick is absolutely massive now?” Eliot finishes for him, and finally manages to tear his gaze away from said <em>absolutely massive</em> dick to look Quentin in the face again. “I mean, yes, I suppose it makes as much sense as anything can in this situation, but.”
</p><p>“But what?” Quentin asks, mortified to hear a whine in his voice. “It’s weird. You hate it.”</p><p>Eliot <em>laughs</em>, but he also leans over to press a kiss to Quentin’s hipbone. “Q. Baby. There is absolutely no way I could hate your dick. Ever. Believe me.” </p><p>Quentin gasps as Eliot follows that up by pushing his pants the rest of the way down to the floor and grabbing firmly at Quentin’s ass with both hands—which, there’s like less to grab now, but it’s not like Eliot is going to comment on that right now. Even if he might be thinking it. <em>He could still be thinking it</em>. </p><p>“Come on, lift up,” he says, and it takes Quentin a second to realize Eliot wants him to step out of his pants, which he does, hastily kicking them safely out of the way. It would be just his luck that he trips over them with his giant feet and falls face first on the floor and breaks his nose or something. That seems like something he would do.</p><p>Are he and Eliot the same shoe size now? Can he just borrow Eliot’s shoes and clothes until all this is over? What if it’s permanent and he has to buy a whole new wardrobe. Quentin <em>hates</em> shopping. God, Margo will have a field day, though. She’s been <em>waiting</em> for an excuse to throw out all his clothes—</p><p>“Hey,” Eliot says, with another squeeze, and a kiss to Quentin’s lower belly. “You still with me, here?”</p><p>Quentin nods and bites his lip, his hands gripping Eliot’s shoulders, as Eliot makes a humming noise, as though he’s considering what to do with the dick in his face. Fucking tease.</p><p>“Good,” Eliot says, his voice low, “Now. Should I go ahead and show you how much I decidedly do <em>not </em>hate your dick?”</p><p>Quentin’s hips jerk forward, and then Eliot’s hands are there, holding him steady. </p><p>“Yeah,” he gasps out. “El. Please.”</p><p>Eliot is loving this, making Quentin so desperate without even having really touched him. It’s annoying. He’s so hot when he’s smug.</p><p>“Yeah? You ready to be convinced?”</p><p>“God, <em>Eliot</em>, would you just. Shut the fuck up and. Get your hand or your mouth or <em>something </em>on me like, now—”</p><p>Eliot <em>laughs</em>, which like, okay, fair enough, but then. Then he says, “Okay, baby, anything for you,” and.</p><p>Then he’s wrapping one hand, god, one perfect, talented hand, around Quentin’s cock, and before he even has any time to react to that, really, before he’s had a chance to even <em>breathe</em>, Eliot follows that with his mouth.</p><p>Quentin would shout, but he doesn’t have enough air in his lungs to manage it, so he ends up letting out a nearly silent wheeze that is deeply unsexy, but Eliot is currently working Quentin’s dick to the back of his throat, so. It doesn’t seem like he minds much.</p><p><em>Holy fuck</em>, Quentin thinks and then he’s saying it outloud, too. </p><p>Eliot has always been good at this, obviously, it’s not like this is anything new? But he’s really showing off now, having absolutely zero problems managing the extra inches he’s dealing with. </p><p>One of Quentin’s hands is tangled in Eliot’s curls now, just how he likes it, pulling just enough, showing Eliot <em>exactly </em>how good a job he’s doing, how much Quentin wants it. </p><p>
He wants to keep <em>looking</em>, wants to watch Eliot slide off his dick almost all the way, and then take him back in again, all at once, into the wet heat of his perfect mouth, <em>fuck</em>. He wants to look at Eliot, curls falling into his face, his beautiful eyes dark and focused on Quentin’s face, the entire time. </p><p>But he can’t stop staring at his own hand, his fingers twined in Eliot’s curls. Are they longer now than they normally are? Yeah, it seems like they are, his whole hand is noticeably bigger, which is like, super weird, actually. As a magician, he has probably paid attention to his own hands and what they were doing more than most people: working on getting the <em>exact right finger </em>placements for Popper number whatever, focusing all his energy on the flow of magic as he carefully mended something small and broken. </p><p>It’s like he’s looking down—and there’s so much farther down to look than there usually is—at someone else’s hands, like Eliot has <em>someone else</em>’s dick in his mouth. Which is, obviously, not something Quentin wants to think about. It’s <em>insane </em>to be like, jealous of your own dick, right? That’s not a feeling that should be even remotely possible. </p><p>Maybe if he just closes his eyes…it all obviously <em>feels </em>amazing, so if he can just focus, maybe he can actually enjoy his extremely hot boyfriend blowing him.</p><p>Except, no, because if it’s like, someone else’s hands and someone else’s dick and someone else’s <em>body</em>, and Eliot is enjoying it, then does Eliot want to be fucking other people? Is he thinking about someone else? The rational part of him, the part that remembers they’ve talked about this, that Eliot had very explicitly said <em>I want it to be just us</em> and has shown no sign of going back on it, knows that this is absolutely ridiculous.</p><p><em>But maybe</em>, another, stupid, fucking annoying part of his brain that too often overrides everything else, chimes in, maybe he didn’t realize what he’d been missing, and now that he’s getting the chance to fuck a tall guy with a huge dick again—</p><p>“Um, Q?” Eliot says, and Quentin blinks his eyes open to find that Eliot has pulled off his dick, which is uh. Not really hard anymore. “Are you okay, baby?”</p><p>He rubs his hands soothingly down Quentin’s thighs, eyes full of concern. Quentin feels like an absolute piece of shit. For…a few reasons.</p><p>“Yeah,” he says, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry.” </p><p>Eliot gently tugs his arm, to get him to sit down on the bed.</p><p>“You don’t have to be sorry, I’m not like, insulted. I’m worried. Wanna tell me what you’re thinking?”</p><p>He reaches out to stroke Quentin’s hair, settles his hand on the back of his neck, firm and steadying.</p><p>How can he tell Eliot what he was thinking? He can’t. It’s too stupid, too mean, and Eliot is so good to him. </p><p>Instead, Quentin shakes his head and takes a deep breath. “Um, I just got. I don’t know, I guess I’m still just feeling a little off, you know? But um, I’m okay now. Could we just…”</p><p>He gestures to the bed, scoots up and lies back and holds out a hand for Eliot, who still looks uncertain, to join him.</p><p>“Q, we don’t have to do anything, seriously—”</p><p>“No, I want to, I want you, come on,” Quentin says, pouts a little, because he knows it’s hard for Eliot to resist. “Kiss me at least?”</p><p>That does the trick, and Eliot stretches out next to him and gets his hand back on Quentin’s neck, to draw him in for a kiss, soft and a little hesitant.</p><p>Quentin makes an encouraging noise and parts his lips for Eliot’s tongue and well, it doesn’t stay soft and hesitant for much longer.</p><p>It’s hard to be too in his head when Eliot is kissing him. More than anything else, it reliably quiets his stupid brain. There’s no way to mess this up, no way his stupid, weird body can ruin this for him. </p><p>He’s hard again after not too long, and Eliot, now convinced of Quentin’s enthusiastic participation, is rolling him onto his back, and swallowing the surprised noise that escapes from Quentin’s mouth. </p><p>“Please,” he groans, his thighs tensing reflexively around Eliot’s waist. “El, can we—”</p><p>“Shh.” Eliot presses a soft kiss to his mouth and strokes his hand down the side of Quentin’s face, his neck, soothing. “I’ve got you.” </p><p>Then, he’s pulling back to slide out of his pajama pants, and leaning down to do the spell, the one that will get Quentin wet and ready for him—and like, honestly, magic really fucking sucks sometimes, but this has got to be one of the greatest discoveries in the history of human innovation. </p><p>Eliot still opens him up with his fingers, because he loves how much Quentin loves it. And it’s perfect, it’s so good.</p><p>He’s leaning up to kiss Quentin as he works him open, because he also knows exactly how much Quentin likes that, Eliot’s fingers filling him up and Eliot’s tongue in his mouth. </p><p>They’ve done this so many times, it’s muscle memory, only this time, his muscles, and every other part of his body are, quite literally, not the same.</p><p>“Wait hold on, let me just,” Eliot says, trying to adjust himself on the bed so that he can simultaneously keep his fingers where they are, and stretch up enough to get his mouth on Quentin’s.</p><p>Turns out, Quentin is tall enough now that their usual rhythm is thrown off. Eliot doesn’t seem to mind, he’s rolling with it, because of course he is, he’s like basically a sex god, he can make anything good, but Quentin feels a weird surge of anxiety, now that they’re back to like, the actual mechanics of fucking. </p><p>“Here, I can—”</p><p>Quentin cranes his neck up to meet Eliot halfway for a kiss, as Eliot is leaning down.</p><p>Their teeth clack together. Hard. </p><p>“Shit, sorry,” Quentin groans, panicking now. “I was trying to—” </p><p>“It’s okay,” Eliot says, wincing a little. “It happens.”</p><p>Which, yeah, is probably true, they have five decades plus of having sex with each other in the books, that are full of awkward little moments that they laughed about. It’s not a big deal.</p><p>And yet, suddenly Quentin is saying, “Actually um, I want to ride you, can we do that instead?”</p><p>Eliot blinks at him. “I—of course, baby, whatever you want, but—”</p><p>“Okay, great, here, let me up, and I’ll just—”</p><p>This will be better. This way, he can just lean down to kiss Eliot, while Eliot gets him ready, and and it won’t be weird and awkward—</p><p>In his haste to make this happen, to soothe his own nerves and make this good for Eliot, (because Eliot doesn’t deserve to have his sex life ruined by Quentin flipping out) he sort of… </p><p>Well, obviously he doesn’t <em>forget </em>that his body is different now, because that’s the whole issue, isn’t it. But he simply isn’t used to moving around in this new body, his brain just hasn’t caught up with his sense of space and how much of it he takes up. And so, as he is eagerly clamoring to his knees, to get himself situated on Eliot’s lap, and get his arms wrapped around Eliot’s neck, he also ends up flinging an arm into Eliot’s face.</p><p>His elbow connects with Eliot’s cheekbone with a sharp <em>crack. </em></p><p>“Oh my god. Fuck. El, are you okay?” Quentin gasps, as Eliot clutches at his face. “Here, let me see.”</p><p>He gently pulls Eliot’s hand away, and Eliot lets him, which honestly, Quentin wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t want Quentin touching him right now, or maybe <em>ever again</em>. </p><p>Quentin presses a kiss to Eliot’s palm in apology and turns his face so he can see the damage.</p><p>“Oh, god, El, I’m so so sorry, honey—” </p><p>There’s an angry red spot that will likely bruise, but no broken skin or blood, thank god. Eliot’s eyes are watery, but he isn’t crying or anything, and he wraps his hand around Quentin’s and squeezes.</p><p>“I’m okay, Q. It hurts, but it’s not like—Hey, come on, I promise, it’s all fine.” </p><p>Quentin realizes that <em>he’s </em>crying a little, and of course now this has turned into Eliot consoling <em>him</em>. </p><p>“I’m a piece of shit,” he moans, frantically wiping at his face with the hand that Eliot’s not holding. </p><p>“Shh,” Eliot is cupping his face in his hands now, kissing his wet cheeks and eyelids. “Don’t talk about my boyfriend like that.”</p><p>That gets a weak smile out of Quentin, at least, and he allows himself to be drawn close against Eliot’s chest. </p><p>Sex is definitely off the table now, and Quentin feels exhausted, even though he just woke up. </p><p>“Sorry I’m such a boner killer,” Quentin sniffles, and Eliot shushes him again and presses a kiss to his forehead. </p><p>They end up laying down on their sides, facing each other. Eliot draws the comforter over them and strokes his hair and after awhile he asks, “Are you feeling okay?”</p><p>Quentin rolls his eyes. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking <em>you</em> that?” </p><p>“It’s really fine, Q. I’d say on a scale of one to ‘that time I <em>spectacularly </em>blew out my back in bed and you told Teddy I had hurt myself climbing the ladder while working on the mosaic,’ this is a solid one-point-five.”</p><p>“Oh my god, I forgot about that.” Quentin is actually genuinely laughing now, not something he would’ve thought capable of just a minute ago. “He didn’t believe it for a second. He knew, right away, and he was <em>so grossed out</em>.”</p><p>Teddy was a worrier, like Quentin, and also a natural caretaker, like Eliot. This had resulted in him fussing over his dads as they got older, and scolding them for not taking care of themselves. It was both annoying and endearing, and Quentin not-so-secretly missed it when Teddy wasn’t there. He misses it now, too. </p><p>“I remember when he told me he was going to move away,” Eliot continues, “He was so worried about leaving us alone. He came to me and told me that he was afraid we would die having sex and that he’d have to come back and find our bodies like that.”</p><p>Now they’re both laughing, and Quentin almost forgets why they started talking about this in the first place. </p><p>“I mean,” he shrugs, “It probably was a fair concern. We did take enthusiastic advantage of having the house to ourselves for the first time in years.”  </p><p>“Which was our right, as empty nesters,” Eliot agrees. He presses a kiss to Quentin’s mouth. </p><p>Quentin reaches up to lightly touch his fingers to the slightly swollen mark on Eliot’s face. </p><p>“It was an accident and I don’t blame you,” Eliot says, again, like he can hear Quentin thinking. “I know it must…feel strange. Anyone would have some trouble adjusting to this. Okay?”</p><p>Quentin nods, because Eliot is right, obviously, and he <em>knows </em>that. Logically, there’s nothing more to it than that. </p><p>He settles deeper into the covers, scoots forward so their foreheads are pressed together, and closes his eyes. The room is still mostly dark; it’s barely even dawn. Eliot keeps stroking his hair, until they both fall asleep. </p><p>-</p><p>When they wake up again it’s still morning, somehow, even though it feels like a whole day has passed already. </p><p>Eliot goes out with Margo to grab coffee, after Quentin had insisted that he would be absolutely fine without him for a bit, and besides, Julia is home. The rest of the penthouse is quiet. Kady, Penny, and Alice have gone out to try to track down the hedges from yesterday.</p><p>Eliot and Margo don’t get as much alone time as they used to, and Quentin tries to encourage it when he can. He’s a mature, responsible adult and he doesn’t need his boyfriend to sit with him all day and hold his hand while he catastrophizes. Eliot would do it if he asked. </p><p>Quentin uses the time to shower, and work himself into a state of anxiety again. </p><p>He purposefully doesn’t look at himself in the shower, lets his vision zone out and goes about his business as quickly as possible. </p><p>What if this is permanent? What if he’s just going to go through the rest of his life feeling like he’s walking around in a body that doesn’t belong to him? What if he’s going to be awkward and gangly and bad—and <em>dangerous</em>—in bed forever?</p><p>Eliot would probably stay with him, out of loyalty, but he’d get sick of it after awhile. He’d have to. </p><p>All of this is topped off with another wave of nausea and aches in his bones. It’s not quite as intense as last time, but it’s not fun. He takes some more pain pills and lies down on his back in the dark until the pain subsides. </p><p>When he feels okay enough to sit up and dress himself, he heads down the hall to the kitchen and carefully eats a piece of toast; he hasn’t had anything since lunch yesterday. He’s not really hungry, but he knows better than to keep skipping meals. </p><p>Julia is cross-legged on the couch with a seriously ancient-looking spellbook, on special loan from Brakebills even though she’s not a student there; she’s got Fogg wrapped around her little finger.</p><p>Quentin flings himself down next to her. Mercifully, he manages to not hit her with any flailing limbs. He doesn’t quite fit all the way on the couch, his legs dangling off the side, but whatever. </p><p>Quentin and Julia don’t talk about sex, really, possibly because for awhile there there was quite a bit of tension in their relationship revolving around sex, specifically that Quentin wanted to be having it with Julia, and she didn’t want to be having it with him, and she tried to pretend like she didn’t notice. There was also the part where Quentin kind of wanted to be having sex with Julia’s boyfriend James, too, and he sort of thinks James might have felt the same way, which Quentin felt terrible about, and his guilt over it made him act even weirder towards Julia.</p><p>So, yeah, understandably, it’s not a topic they’ve broached often. But Julia is his best friend, and she gives good advice, and he could really use her specific brand of pep talk right now.</p><p>“My dick is all weird now and I think I have like, a complex about it, also I full-on elbowed Eliot in the face during um, an intimate moment, and it was the worst sex, or should I say <em>attempt</em> at sex, we’ve ever had and what if I’m like this forever and he’s going to break up with me,” Quentin blurts out all at once, and then groans and buries his face in one of the many fluffy throw pillows scattered around the couch. </p><p>There’s a pause. Then, Julia, ever patient, sighs, sets her book aside, runs gentle fingers through his hair and says, just as gently, “He’s not going to break up with you.” </p><p>“How do you know?” Quentin asks, turning his face up to stare at her, challenging her to reassure him. It’s a familiar beat for them, and she just shakes her head, before indulging him.</p><p>“Well, I guess I don’t know for sure, because I think our lives are proof that no one can know anything for sure. But I’m gonna take a wild guess that after everything he went through to get you, he’s pretty set on keeping you.”</p><p>Quentin, even set as he is on being dramatic—which yes, he does recognize, thank you—can’t help but smile at this, and he feels his face turn hot at the thought of being <em>kept</em> by Eliot, forever, in all the ways imaginable. It’s all he wants. </p><p>And until literally yesterday, he was sure it was all Eliot wanted, too, but that was. Before. The fluttering feeling in his stomach suddenly turns into something else. </p><p>“Yeah, well, that was before I became a freak of nature and physically injured him in bed, and we’re maybe never going to have sex again,” Quentin concludes. </p><p>Or, like, what if Eliot ends up liking his current weird dick <em>more </em>and then when he gets back to normal, Eliot will be disappointed in his boring, average-sized dick? He’s never complained about it before, but maybe now that he’s seen what he’s missing…</p><p>Quentin doesn’t say this part out loud. </p><p>Julia noticeably does <em>not </em>ask for more information about his dick being weird, and chooses to focus on the second part of that sentence. “Come on, Q. So you guys had a less-than-amazing attempt at sex. It happens to everyone occasionally.” </p><p>“It has <em>literally</em> never happened to us before,” Quentin says, with confidence, because, well, it hasn’t. Not in all their years at the mosaic, not any time since, not even that first time, years ago, with Margo. Even that had been better than should have been allowed, considering the circumstances. He and Eliot have always just <em>worked</em> together, in all ways possible. They have never had an actually, uh, unsuccessful <em>happy ending</em>.</p><p>Julia kind of looks like she doesn’t believe him, but also like she doesn’t want details, so she doesn’t push it. “Okay, so then using your own logic, it was a fluke and there’s nothing to worry about.”</p><p>Quentin frowns. “I don’t know, Jules. It was like, really bad. And what if I’m stuck like this forever? I mean, not to um, overshare, but just like, I feel really discombobulated, like, sexually.” </p><p>Julia looks pained, but, ever the helpful friend, manages to say, “You’re <em>not </em>going to be stuck like this forever, and in the meantime, I’m sure you’ll work it out. You know, it’s a chance to…be creative.”</p><p><em>Creative</em>? Maybe people with boring, unfulfilling sex lives need to be <em>creative </em>to spice things up, but Quentin and his incredibly hot boyfriend who knows exactly what he likes and how he likes it are not those people, thank you very much. </p><p>He’s pretty sure that thought would constitute what Julia would consider too much information and also <em>judgmental </em>(which, it probably is, but whatever, sorry not sorry that he has an amazing sex life with his soulmate after literally being <em>dead</em> for awhile) so he decides to keep it to himself.</p><p>“It’s just not, um,” Quentin winces with the effort of trying to be as vague as possible, “I guess it’s boring, but most of the time I like to be…face-to-face? And we—”</p><p>“Hah, <em>wow</em>, okay,” Julia cuts him off and even physically slaps her hand over his mouth for emphasis. “I think I get it. Thanks.”</p><p>He glares up at her, and then very deliberately touches the tip of his tongue to the center of her palm. </p><p>As predicted, she shrieks and yanks her hand away. “Ew, ew, <em>no</em>! God, you’re <em>disgusting</em>. That wasn’t cute when we were ten, and it’s not cute now.”</p><p>There was a period of time in their friendship, before puberty and awkward feelings and the crushing feeling of rejection that would continue for a decade, where they were comfortable enough to gross each other out with stupid stuff like this. </p><p>It’s nice to have that carefree feeling back when just a few years ago, it would’ve seemed impossible. It doesn’t matter how tall he is or what he looks like; Julia will always think he’s kind of gross, and that’s weirdly comforting. </p><p>Quentin smirks and shrugs. “I mean, there’s a point to be made here about how you’ve been bossing me around your whole life.”</p><p>Julia hastily wipes her hand on the sleeve of Quentin’s shirt, which he studiously ignores.</p><p>“Mm, actually, I think the point is that you’ve never known when to shut up,” she says, before digging her fingers into the tender flesh just under his ribs, exactly where he’s most sensitive.</p><p>“Ow, fuck, Jules, stop,” he whines around a wheeze of uncontrollable laughter, kicking ineffectually at the air with his freakishly long legs. “I hate you so much.” </p><p>He’s rolling around on the couch, ineffectually trying to pry Julia’s spry and deceitfully strong hands away from his body, when they’re interrupted by the front door opening and a furious incoming <em>clack-clack-clacking </em>of heels on the hardwood floor. </p><p>“Hey Coldwater, I heard your dick is too big now.”</p><p>That’s Margo, of course, looking excited, with Eliot close behind her, looking exasperated and carrying a cardboard carrier filled with coffee cups. </p><p>Julia stops her attack and Quentin struggles into a sitting position, awkwardly trying to figure out what to do with his freakishly long legs, which won’t comfortably fold under him like usual. </p><p>“See?” he says, turning to Julia, feeling an odd, misplaced form of triumph. “I told you.”</p><p>“I never said it was too big,” Eliot insists, his voice strained. He sets the coffee down on a side table with a little more force than necessary.</p><p>“Well, you didn’t say it in so many words. I could just tell from your tone,” Margo generously clarifies. “So, anyway, can I see it, or what?”</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” is the simultaneous response from Eliot and Quentin. Julia makes a face. </p><p>Margo rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on. Don’t <em>literally </em>cock out on me. I’ve seen it before!”</p><p>“Okay, I haven’t, and no offense Q, but I’d rather keep it that way,” Julia says. “So like, if you’re gonna be whipping it out—”</p><p>And wow, yeah, life really has changed, because there was a time in the not too distant past where he would’ve loved nothing more than for Julia to want to see his dick. Now, the thought is just weird. </p><p>“I will definitely not be uh, whipping anything out in the living room I share with my six roommates, don’t worry, Jules,” Quentin assures her, before turning to Margo. “And that was different.”</p><p>“How?” Margo demands.</p><p>“I—it’s—it just was!” Quentin sputters.</p><p>“Why, because now that you and Eliot are making tender monogamous love every night, he’s the only one who will ever get to lay eyes on your precious junk again?”</p><p>Margo’s voice is utterly <em>dripping</em> with sarcasm, but. </p><p>“Well, I mean,” Quentin shrugs. “Yeah, I guess, it’s like, exclusive access. As long as he wants it, anyway.”</p><p>Eliot turns to him with a soft look on his face. “Aw, baby, that’s so—”</p><p>“Disgusting,” Margo interrupts. “Man, you guys are <em>boring</em>. I need to make new friends. Some of those Fillorians are<em> freaks</em>. I’m gonna hang out with them from now on.” </p><p>It’s an empty threat, and everyone knows it, including Eliot, who fondly rubs her back.</p><p>“I mean, if El’s even interested anymore, because of your apparent <em>monster dong</em>, Q,” Margo grumbles. </p><p>That is…not such an empty threat, at least emotionally, but Margo doesn’t know that. </p><p>Eliot opens his mouth, clearly about to argue, and Quentin loves him for it. Before he can, Margo visibly perks up and grabs Eliot’s chin in one of her perfectly manicured hands.</p><p>“Wait. Is <em>that </em>how you got this bruise? Did Quentin <em>whack you in the face </em>with his gigantic cock?”</p><p>She sounds absolutely delighted. </p><p>“Ew,” Julia says. </p><p>Sure enough, Eliot has a slight bruise blooming on his face now, right on his cheekbone under his eye. Great. And Quentin thought there was no way he could feel any worse.</p><p>“It’s not that bad,” Eliot insists, wincing a little as Margo gently touches the tip of her finger to the bruise. “It was an accident.”</p><p>“Still not hearing any denial about Quentin whacking you in the face with his gigantic cock.”</p><p>“Aaaand, I’m out,” Julia throws up her hands. She hurries out of the room, making sure to grab a cup of coffee on the way. “See ya.” </p><p>Quentin can’t blame her, really. She did her best.</p><p>Eliot sighs, as Quentin insists, “I didn’t—it wasn’t like that, it’s just, you know, I’m not used to—my arms, just like, in general, my limbs are…unpredictable.”</p><p>He’s not sure why he feels the need to explain, as the truth isn’t actually any <em>better</em>, and Margo clearly agrees, judging by the unimpressed noise she makes as she continues to inspect Eliot’s face, which he bears dutifully.</p><p>“Yeah, if I were you, I’d go with the dick thing,” she concludes, patting Eliot’s cheek gently before releasing him. “Much less embarrassing.”</p><p>“We’ll take it under advisement, Bambi,” Eliot says, and drops onto the spot next to Quentin that Julia had vacated a few moments earlier. </p><p>With as much dignity as he can muster, which is admittedly not much, Quentin leans over and presses a gentle kiss to the tender spot on Eliot’s face. Then he shifts around and contorts himself so that he can curl up in his preferred position, with his head tucked under Eliot’s chin.</p><p>Margo takes a sip of coffee and looks at them with raised eyebrows, taking in the way Quentin’s twisted himself up like a pretzel and is half hanging off the furniture. Eliot’s arms are firmly wrapped around him though, and Quentin knows Eliot won’t let him fall.</p><p>“Comfortable?”</p><p>“Yes,” Quentin lies, and Eliot huffs out a laugh and presses his lips to his forehead.</p><p>Margo shrugs and delicately wiggles her way into the open space on Eliot’s other side. </p><p>“Well,” she drawls. “Isn’t this cozy?” </p><p>It actually is, so of course Quentin immediately feels guilty. </p><p>“I feel like I should be you know, doing something.”</p><p>“Like what?” Margo snorts. “Stumbling around the streets of the city like the world’s largest toddler? You’d be a hazard to yourself and others. Just sit here and let us take care of you.” </p><p>She has a point, and that does sound nice. Except letting Eliot and Margo take care of him turns out to involve suffering through a marathon of The Real Housewives of New York City. </p><p>“I’m sick, shouldn’t I get to pick the show?” he whines, to no avail.</p><p>“You have to watch reality tv when you’re feeling like shit, Q,” Margo insists. “At times like these, only trash will do. And you might find it relatable. You and El are basically each other’s housewives.” </p><p>“Bambi, you are so perceptive,” Eliot says, with every indication of sincerity.</p><p>Yeah, Quentin’s not touching that one. </p><p>He ends up stretching out on the couch as much as he can, with his head in Eliot’s lap, and closes his eyes and lets himself doze to the soothing feeling of Eliot’s long fingers massaging his head, and the not-so soothing vocal stylings of someone named Countess Luann. </p><p>Eliot and Margo are in the middle of a debate about whether the show is worth watching “without Bethenny,” whoever she is, when Quentin is startled into full consciousness by Kady’s voice.</p><p>“Hey, guys.”</p><p><em>They’re back</em>. Quentin opens his eyes and jolts into an upright position to find Kady, Penny, and Alice with matching unreadable expressions.  </p><p>Eliot immediately reaches for his hand and squeezes, tight. Quentin’s not sure what he’s more afraid of: that they didn’t find out anything, or that they did. </p><p>“So are you gonna do this with an interpretive dance routine or charades or something? Out with it,” Margo demands. </p><p>Kady, Penny, and Alice exchange glances that do not put Quentin at ease.</p><p>“Well,” Kady says, finally. </p><p>Another pause.</p><p>“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The title for the fic is obviously a reference to The Postal Service song, and also...I can't resist a pun. </p><p>While writing this I just kept picturing Quentin as Cousin Greg from HBO Succession, in case anyone who is also a fan wants to put that hilarious and horrifying image in their head. </p><p>It is now my dream to watch RHONY with Eliot and Margo. </p><p>For a fic that started out as a joke, I ended up having a lot to say? Part 2 should be out soon!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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